


Reprieve

by prosodiical



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Comfort Sex, M/M, Skin Hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: There's something electrifying about the way Percival reacts to Newt's touch; the way he leans into it before his conscious mind takes over and he makes himself pull away.





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kallistob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/gifts).



> This didn't quite get to explicit, but I hope you still like it! Happy Holidays! ♥

There's something electrifying about the way Percival reacts to Newt's touch; the way he leans into it before his conscious mind takes over and he makes himself pull away. From the moment Newt had found him, brushed a hand over his shoulder and seen the way he shivered under Newt's fingertips, Newt's wanted nothing more than to bundle him in blankets, to press their legs together and wrap his arms around him until that strange, gaping loneliness that shone in his eyes was gone.

He hides it well. At least he's noticed Newt's slow escalation, from the occasional brush of their hands and elbows to this: knees bumping under a table at a Muggle restaurant Newt had been recommended by Queenie, a knowing glint in her eye. Percival's eyelids fall half-mast as Newt's fingers brush his palm when he steals Percival's glass of magicked wine, and the knowing quirk of his eyebrow says he knows exactly what Newt's trying. "The rescued eggs are doing well?"

"I don't really have the proper incubation habitats set up," Newt says, a little too slow as he pulls his thoughts back to their conversation. The curve of Percival's smile says he's seen Newt's distraction, though Newt thinks he might attribute a little too much to how dashing he looks with his top button undone, wearing the dishevelment of a long day. "But I've made do so far; it's the mother I'm particularly worried about. Once I can follow her trail - "

"Tomorrow," Percival says, and Newt offers him a crooked smile of his own.

"Of course. Tomorrow."

Tonight, after all, is here. Newt's always a little startled by having the whole of Percival's attention, his warm gaze sending a thrill down Newt's spine. Even at MACUSA Newt's afforded it rarely: when he offers a particular suggestion on a case he's consulting, when he presses his palm to Percival's forearm when his gaze grows distant and heavy, full of that stark empty despair. Now, though, there's nothing but Percival's blossoming smile and with no excuse of workplace propriety, by the time Newt takes Percival's arm with the promise of an unregulated nightcap he's almost entirely certain he knows where this will go.

But Percival pulls away when they land, Newt's hand falling from his elbow, and he pours them both a Firewhiskey that steams in their glasses as Newt takes a hesitant seat at his table. 

"Thank you," Newt says, as Percival takes the bottle back to the cupboard, entirely unnecessarily bridging space between them. "But - perhaps my assumption was wrong - "

"No," Percival says, "not exactly." He rubs his hand over his forehead, and he looks - tired, terribly so, and Newt finds himself rising to his feet again without thought, stepping closer until he can take Percival's arm again. Percival's breath catches at the touch, this innocent hand over cloth covering skin, and he says, "Newt."

"I want this," Newt says, carefully, looking at him through his eyelashes. "And you..."

Percival examines him, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "You've been corralling me like one of your creatures, Newt Scamander."

"Not too egregiously, I hope," Newt says, ducking his head and biting back his own smile. "Percival - "

Percival kisses him. Newt reels him in close.

It's that, perhaps: Newt's hands on Percival's hips or Percival's fingers tightening in Newt's hair, but Newt feels more than hears the hitch in Percival's breath that he tries and fails to hide, the low sound he makes in his throat. "I'm sorry," Percival says, and Newt shakes his head and kisses him again, so he doesn't have to see Percival's attempt at shuttering the ache of longing in his eyes.

Newt lets his fingers fall to the buttons on Percival's shirt, slips his fingers under the fabric until his palms touch skin and kisses him until they're both breathless, until Newt longs for the heat of his skin. Percival sways toward him when he pulls back, his pupils wide in the stark kitchen light and Newt's drawn back in to the wet heat of his mouth, his lips bitten red. "Perhaps somewhere," Newt says, "a little more - "

"Right," Percival says, and makes to pull away, but Newt doesn't let him go.

Percival's smile is just on the right side of amused disbelief, and Newt hides his laugh in Percival's hair. "I don't mind being Side-Alonged."

"How gauche of you," Percival says, "making me Apparate inside my own home," but he takes them anyway, spinning through space in a rush that steals Newt's breath as much as the sight of Percival, shirt untucked and hair terribly mussed, as Newt presses him back to his expansive bed. "Where are your manners?"

"I think I may have forgotten them," Newt says mock-seriously, and hides his smile in the skin at Percival's collarbone as he works Percival's shirt off his shoulders. He's delightfully warm, responsive to Newt's touch like a flower seeking sun, and Newt wants to flood him with it, to map the curse scars across his skin and press kisses to each one, to draw the pain of each memory to something - new. Loved. But he's getting ahead of himself, Newt thinks, though he can't help but smile wryly at himself as he presses a kiss to the corner of Percival's mouth, the curve of his jaw. "Are you - "

Percival says, "Don't make me banish that shirt of yours," and tugs him back for another kiss, wet and languid and unhurried despite his tone. Newt smiles into it, nips at his lip and lets his wandering touch slip lower until Percival makes a low sound, arches into him in a way that sends a shiver of desire down Newt's spine, makes his blood run fierce and hot.

"How gauche of you," Newt says, breathless and teasing. Percival quirks a challenging eyebrow at him, and Newt shakes his head and kisses him again and again, until he's not thinking of anything but the press of Percival's skin against his, the hands tangled in his hair pulling him closer and the lovely welcoming heat of him, until the whole world fades to this.

And after, when Newt tangles his fingers in Percival's hair and sets a splayed hand across his back Percival lets out a breath and says into his shoulder, almost too low to be heard, "Thank you."

"Someone should take care of you," Newt says, quiet, and Percival tilts his head, dark eyes fathomless. Newt smooths his thumb across the crow's feet in the corners of Percival's eyes. "And - if you'd let me - "

"I already have," Percival says, sounding more fond than resigned.

"Well, in that case - "

Perhaps Percival still aches for touch, for something to fill the emptiness in his life. Newt's wanted nothing more than this: the lingering warmth of his skin, the gentle curve to his smile, and hopes it's enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Reprieve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187227) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)




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